He watched me as a slid my miraculously unripped stockings back up my legs and slipped on last night's high heels, one by one.
What had I done, and, more importantly, where exactly was I?
I felt uneasy as I slipped my dress over my head, and even a little queasy as I scanned my purse and took a mental inventory, checking that I'd not lost anything.
He walked me to the door and I kissed him goodbye.
After we had been dating for some time, I told him that I had intended for us to be a one-night stand.
He said, "Veronica, you don't kiss a one-night-stand goodbye in the morning.", and that he knew he'd make me his.
He turned the light on while I nervously searched for my panties. I tried desperately to hide how embarrassed I was.
Regret and shame are not in my repertoire of feelings, but in this moment of vulnerability, I was closer to both than I'd been in ages.
New Order's 'Bizzare Love Triangle' plays in my head as I tiptoe towards the door and think dreadfully to myself, "This is how my last relationship started. Shit!"
I wanted to kiss him goodbye, but I wasn't going to, until he asked.
So I did; Twice.
I'm not a fan of the one-night-stand. I rarely have them, and when I do, they tend to turn in to something more. But, there is something to be said for a successful one-night-stand. As a female, in the best case scenario, you leave feeling empowered and fulfilled. Worst case: regretful, sore and potentially pregnant.
Sometimes, the single girl's only logical solution to emotional trauma is to seek out a superficial facsimile of what love can be.
I think, tonight, I'll wear what my friend, Dave, calls "Come Fuck Me" boots.
